Light on Lucrezia Read Online Free PDF Page A

Carlotta.”
    “I had not thought of it,” he said. “You weary me, Sanchia. With your ambitions you weary me.”
    “Get out of here,” she cried.
    And to her astonishment he threw her back on to her couch and left her.
    She stared after him. She was bitterly wounded for he had hurt her where she was most vulnerable.
    Her women came in and found her weeping quietly. They had never seen her quiet; they had never before seen her so unhappy.
    They coaxed her, combed her hair, smoothed unguents into her hot forehead, told her she must not cry so and spoil her beautiful eyes.
    And at length she ceased to cry and, springing up, swore revenge on Cesare Borgia, swore that she would use all her powers to prevent his marriage with her cousin. She would make a wax image of Cesare; she would stick red-hot pins into its heart. Evil should come to him because he had wounded her deeply and had exulted in the wounding.
    “By all the saints!” she cried. “I will be revenged on you, Cesare Borgia.”

     
    This was Lucrezia’s wedding day—her second wedding day.
    That other, which had taken place five years before when she was thirteen,seemed now like some haunting scene from a nightmare—horrible and unreal. She did not want to think of it. Then she had been too young to consummate the marriage, and the man beside her had been grim and unattractive, a widower who had seemed quite unimpressed by her beauty.
    She wanted to be happy. She realized now how like her father she was. She knew how bitterly he had suffered when Giovanni, his best-loved son, had been murdered. Thus had she felt when the news had been brought to her that Pedro Caldes’ body had been taken from the Tiber. Then she had cried to the saints: “Out of your goodness, let me die.” Alexander must have uttered similar words.
    He had recovered quickly. He had turned from memories of the dead to delight in the living. He was wise; she believed him to be the wisest man on Earth; his conduct in crises had always been an example. Now she understood more than she ever had before that she needed to follow his example.
    She wanted to love her bridegroom. Was it very difficult? He was young and handsome and, although they had first met but three days ago, he was already becoming ardent. He had had fears of what he would find; those fears were dispersed. Thus should her misery disappear. In the arms of Alfonso, her legitimate lover, she would forget that passion for Pedro Caldes which had been doomed from its beginning.
    How glad she was that he had come unceremoniously to Rome, thus enabling them to make each other’s acquaintance before the wedding day. She was delighted when Alfonso had whispered to her: “You are so different from the wife I expected to find waiting for me.”
    “You are pleased with what you find?” she had asked, and he had answered: “I am bemused with delight.”
    She believed that he spoke with the sincerity of youth rather than with the flattery of a courtier.
    Lucrezia was right. Alfonso was happy; he was thinking only of her. He knew that Cesare hated him because he was to be Lucrezia’s husband, and he did not seem to care. The Papal guards made bets on how long it would be before the Pope decided that his new son-in-law was useless to his aims, and how long after that Alfonso would cease to exist; for a second divorce would provide something of a scandal, and indeed might be difficult even for the wily Alexander to procure. Still, Alfonso did not care. He was to marry Lucrezia, and that was all he had time to think about.
    Her women were dressing Lucrezia in a gold-colored gown which was heavy with pearls comprising the mingling arms of Borgia and Aragon. About her neck were priceless rubies, and the lustrous emerald which adorned her forehead gave some of its color to her pale eyes. She looked very little older than she had on the day she married Giovanni Sforza.
    She was conducted with her attendants to the Pope’s private apartments